Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned
by Sydella
Summary: Daemon would gladly break his body, mind and spirit for the Vongola. Fortunately for him, Giotto is cunning enough to change destiny. Hints of Ricardo x Daemon (abusive one-sided relationship)


He swears it's the last time.

"You worthless scum! Don't you _dare_ disobey me again!"

It's always the last time.

"I am Vongola Secondo. No one goes against me. If you don't understand that, you don't deserve to be one of my Guardians."

Ricardo sounds calmer now, and Daemon dares to look up. The don drains a glass of wine and sets it down with a thump. The rage in his eyes simmers there for a moment, then flares up again.

"You FOOL!" his voice rises to a scream.

In a corridor outside Ricardo's bedchamber, his other Guardians exchange wary glances and tiptoe away, distancing themselves from the endless storm of their boss's fury. Poor Daemon, having to bear the brunt of Ricardo's infamous tantrums. Torn between guilt that they are doing nothing to rescue Daemon from Ricardo's clutches, and relief that they are not on the receiving end of his violence _this_ time, the five remaining second-generation Guardians beat a hasty retreat. They can only hope that Ricardo's temper will have cooled by the end of the night.

Inside, Ricardo continues to punch and kick his Mist Guardian. His attacks are relentless, but Daemon endures the abuse silently. Not once does the illusionist complain. He merely keeps his head down, blue pineapple-styled hair shining under the dim lights.

Daemon is no saint, but no one can deny that his emotional strength is praiseworthy. Even now, as his boss shouts in his ear and pushes his face against the cold marble floor, the illusionist refuses to call for help and swallows his tears.

His unshakeable dignity is both pathetic and admirable, really.

X

"You should stop," Yuuki, Ricardo's Rain Guardian and right-hand man, says calmly.

Daemon fainted an hour ago and is now lying in a hospital bed with an IV drip attached to an arm. Ricardo doesn't feel any remorse. He never does.

"Stop?" He turns to look at Yuuki. Sky and Rain contemplate each other for a moment. "No, Yuuki. He deserves it."

"But he didn't even do anything to discredit you!" Yuuki's blue eyes widen. "Daemon's loyalty is unquestionable, Secondo. Our Family is his _life_. Tell me, do you intend to keep abusing him until he dies?!"

Ricardo glares at him. "And if I do? You wouldn't be able to stop me. Even someone of your calibre would have no chance of winning against me."

Yuuki scowls. "If you kill him, Secondo, you will be left with an incomplete set of Guardians. And then where would we be? Illusionists, especially ones as talented as Daemon, are few and far between."

"They are rare, yes," Ricardo concedes. "But not impossible to find. Believe you me, Yuuki, if Daemon dies, it's no skin off my nose. I can easily replace him."

Yuuki observes his Sky for a few moments. In the dim lights, the don's expression is fierce yet strangely vulnerable. "Why, though?" the Rain asks quietly.

Ricardo smiles coldly. "Why do I abuse him, you mean?"

Yuuki nods. "I would like to know."

"The answer is very simple, Yuuki." Calmed by his Rain Guardian's presence, Ricardo sits on an armchair and picks up the now-empty wineglass, turning it over in his hands. "I abuse him because I can. That's all there is to it."

He retrieves a newspaper from the floor, where Daemon had dropped it earlier, and begins idly leafing through it. Yuuki looks away and smiles sadly.

No Mafioso worth his salt would ever believe what Ricardo had just said. Humans are not that simple.

X

Daemon is wide awake. He's exhausted but unable to sleep. Ricardo torments him even in his nightmares. _You fool, you son of a whore, you couldn't even protect the woman you love-_

Sometimes Daemon isn't entirely certain if the voices in his head are products of Ricardo's abuse, or of his own guilty conscience. All sorts of emotions battle each other within him; he can't tell where one nightmare ends and the other begins. A hydra of inner demons, if you will. How fitting that, as he wrestles with his mortal existence, the gates of Hell have opened themselves up to him.

The door to his hospital ward slowly creaks open and someone enters. Daemon peers at the intruder, expecting to see a nurse or a doctor. To his very great surprise, it's Ricardo. _Speak of the devil._

"Have you come here to hit me some more?" Daemon croaks.

Ricardo looks at him with an unreadable expression. "Not now. Not today."

The painkillers in Daemon's system finally kick in and he falls asleep. As he drifts off, he seems to hear Ricardo's voice saying: "We are all monsters, Daemon Spade. Held together by mere flesh and blood, bone and sinew; we walk the earth tormenting each other until the gods reclaim our souls, only to do it all over again when we are reborn into our next life."

Those words are strangely poetic, and when Daemon wakes to an empty room, he can't help but wonder if he imagined or dreamed the whole encounter. After all, someone like Ricardo-a man who has never shown interest in literature-wouldn't say such beautifully morbid things, right?

Right?

X

When Daemon is discharged from the hospital and returns to Vongola headquarters, he finds his fellow Guardians waiting for him with a large cake and expectant smiles on their pale young faces.

"Welcome back!" Yuuki hugs him.

" _Grazie_ , Yuuki." Daemon tries to smile, but ends up looking as if he's holding back vomit.

"Are you all right?" Angelo, the Storm Guardian with a sunny disposition, asks anxiously.

"In your absence, we've been overloaded with work," Silas, the Sun Guardian with a stormy disposition, adds sourly.

Daemon now manages a genuine smile as the inseparable duo pepper him with questions. "Don't be so cute, guys. Yes, I've been away for a while but I'm back and ready to…" He trails off, staring into the distance. The others follow his gaze and catch sight of Ricardo's unmistakable tall, reed-thin figure approaching them.

"Daemon." Ricardo says curtly, by way of greeting. "In my office. Now."

Daemon nods and silently trails after Ricardo. The other Guardians stare pensively at the cake.

Yuuki sighs. "I'll put it in the fridge."

"You can do that," Silas replies, his expression unreadable. "But I have a feeling that Daemon will never have his cake and eat it."

X

"Come home," Giotto says pleadingly. "Won't you come home, Daemon?"

"No, I won't. And you know why." Daemon doesn't look at Giotto. He has been hospitalised again and his former boss is visiting him. The ward is entirely silent save for their voices and the constant _drip, drip, drip_ of the damn thing connected to Daemon's good arm. "What are you even doing here, anyway? I thought you went to Japan. Yuuki heard from Asari that you even have a new wife and kid now. _Complimenti_ , by the way. Or should I say _omedetou_?"

Giotto smiles wryly. "More like _mazel tov_. She's Jewish."

"Seriously?" Daemon blinks. "I didn't know there are Jews in Japan."

"She's biracial, actually. Long story."

"Huh. Okay." Daemon shifts on his bed, trying to familiarise himself with the crinkly mattress and the medicinal smell which permeates the entire room. No matter how many times he ends up here (and his stays are becoming increasingly frequent; Ricardo is nothing short of a rampaging beast these days), he can't get used to it. A realisation strikes him and he gives Giotto a horrified look. "Oh no, don't tell me you've converted to Judaism!"

"Uh, I don't know." Giotto smiles weakly. "She's not very religious anyway. I'm sure we'll figure something out…"

"Oh, _mio Dio_. Sweet Mother Mary, this can't be happening." Daemon crosses himself. "Of all the women you could have chosen-!"

Giotto chuckles. "Do not fret for my immortal soul. I have already made peace with any and all higher powers. I even prayed to Asari's Shinto deities, for good measure."

Daemon crosses himself again. " _Uffa!_ "

"Don't worry, Daemon. I will be all right. It is you I am concerned about."

Daemon absently pulls a stray thread from Giotto's cotton shirt. "Primo, how many times do I have to tell you…" he looks up and meets the retired don's gaze. "I can take whatever abuse Secondo throws at me."

Something that resembles, but isn't quite, anger flares in Giotto's amber eyes. "Can you? Can you really? Allow me to read from your medical report, Dae. A broken arm, a broken leg, a black eye, heavy bruising in the abdominal area AND second-degree burns on your torso. Need I say more?"

Daemon looks down at the stiff white sheets of his hospital bed. He can feel the onset of tears. "Primo, it's not-"

"It's not _what_?" Giotto himself looks a little tearful. "Please just come home, Dae. Your home is with _us_." He didn't have to clarify whom he meant by 'us'-both men knew that he was referring to the first generation.

Daemon wipes his eyes with a sleeve of his nightshirt. "No."

"But-"

" _No_ , Giotto." Daemon rarely addresses his former boss by name, but some situations call for it. This is one of those situations. "G. would kill me the moment I so much as enter your house. And Alaude-well, he's Alaude. You know what I mean."

Giotto stands and draws himself up to his full height, a rather underwhelming five-foot-seven. "Dae, I give you my word. If I order them to accept you, they will do so with no questions asked."

"Don't overestimate your abilities," Daemon replies, not unkindly. "Look, I just…I just don't care about you guys anymore."

And it is true. The mere thought of re-joining the intimate first generation, with their merry ways and mischievous family bonding, makes his stomach churn. Daemon does not belong to the light. He has thrown in his lot with those who dwell and thrive in darkness. Every day, he marches onto a battlefield with guns blazing and eyes that promise death by unspeakable means. He is a killer. A monster. A _traitor_.

He wouldn't have it any other way, because the moment he stops killing innocent people and destroying families, Elena will slip through the cracks. She will return to him through the chinks of his armour the way she used to slide under his bedsheets in the dead of night-quietly, beautifully and elegantly. _You see, il mio amante, I knew you could do it. This is why I love you. You are so strong. No one else is so capable of unleashing the Vongola's full power._

Then she will take him in her mouth, and he will pretend not to notice the maggots devouring her flesh, the empty sockets where her eyes used to be-

"DAEMON!"

Giotto is staring at him. Brought back to reality with earth-shattering force, Daemon gasps and clutches his chest. Oh sweet Lord, had he been hallucinating again?

"I'll get the doctor," Giotto says determinedly, and turns to leave.

"Actually," a very familiar male voice speaks from the doorway, "that won't be necessary."

Ricardo enters the room, Silas following him like a gloomy but loyal mastiff. Giotto stiffens and Daemon grimaces.

" _Buona sera_ , Secondo," Giotto says tersely.

Ricardo gives his predecessor a curt nod. "Primo, I'd like to take care of my Mist Guardian now, if you don't mind."

"Take care of him? _Take care of him?!_ " Giotto balls his shaking hands into fists. "How dare you! You abuse him and treat him like a slave, and now you have the nerve to say something like that!"

"Oh? Is that defiance I see in you, Primo? A pity that you could not summon such admirable sentiment when our Family was under siege." Ricardo walks past the other don. "Don't get in my way. I don't have all night."

Giotto opens his mouth to retort, but Daemon cuts in.

"Really, Primo. It's all right."

"But-"

"But nothing. I'll write to you. See you around."

Giotto stares at him as an impassive Silas begins healing him with Sun Flames. Then, without another word, the retired don turns and stomps out of the room.

"Touchy, isn't he," Ricardo murmurs. "Primo clearly hasn't changed since childhood."

Daemon is silent, relishing the feeling of his body recovering in a matter of minutes. When Silas's work is done, Daemon looks expectantly at Ricardo, who gives him a careful once-over before finally nodding in approval.

"Excellent, Silas. As always, you have outdone yourself." Ricardo gives his Sun a genuine smile, then frowns at his Mist. "What are you waiting for, Daemon? Now that you've been healed, you are perfectly capable of participating in tonight's mission. No excuses." Ricardo's eyes are cold. "I expect a high success rate. No less than 99% of the Tomaso Famiglia must be slaughtered like sheep, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

Ricardo nods, a satisfied smile on his thin lips. "Make it a good one, boys. Give them hell."

X

Give them hell, indeed.

Daemon sits on a hilltop, admiring the second generation's handiwork. Mafiosi spill out onto the streets, bloodstains blossoming on their dark suits. Behind them, the Tomaso headquarters have been set ablaze; clouds of black smoke billow out of windows. As Daemon watches, Tomaso Secondo stumbles across a garden and coughs up blood. It is a scene that would make the Devil proud, and Daemon relishes every second of it.

"Looks like some sort of painting," Vito, Ricardo's Lightning Guardian, remarks dreamily.

Miguel, the Cloud, frowns sceptically. "Can murder be considered a form of art?"

Daemon takes a deep breath, savouring the smells of death and burning. "Do you smell that? As intoxicating as a woman's perfume, isn't it?"

"You're crazy, Daemon." Miguel sighs. "Good thing you're in the Mafia, or you would've been locked up in an asylum years ago. Here, have a drink." He throws a beer can to Daemon, who easily catches it and chugs down its contents like a man dying of thirst.

The three of them sit in companionable silence. Daemon idly turns Miguel's words over in his mind. "Do you really believe that, Mig?"

"Do I really believe what?" the Cloud Guardian replies, not looking at him.

"That I'm crazy and should be locked up in an asylum." Daemon impatiently pushes blue bangs out of his eyes (he is in dire need of a haircut) and peers at Miguel. "Is that what you truly think of me?"

Miguel glances at him. "Well, yeah. Then again, we all are. Else we wouldn't be doing this, right?"

Vito snorts. "You have a point."

At the bottom of the hill, Yuuki holds his own against a dozen assassins. It is a sight to behold. A few feet away, Angelo and Silas perform an intricate dance against the Tomaso's strongest fighters, Storm and Sun working together seamlessly to defend the Vongola with their supple bodies. Daemon commits these images to memory, knowing that he will never forget how they have decimated their enemies. The second generation will go down in history as the generation that made the Vongola **strong**.

Half-consciously, as if reciting a speech, Daemon says: "We are all monsters. Held together by mere flesh and blood, bone and sinew; we walk the earth tormenting each other until the gods reclaim our souls, only to do it all over again when we are reborn into our next life."

" _Compadre_ , what the hell are you saying?" Miguel laughs softly and throws another beer can at him.

"Too stressed by all this fighting, I reckon." Vito chuckles. "Either that, or the fumes are getting to his head."

Daemon smiles good-naturedly as his colleagues tease him, but somehow, he can't shake the feeling that he's heard those words before. He knows that the little speech about monsters and rebirth was made by someone else, a long time ago. But he'll be damned if he can remember who and when. Or why.

"Time for the final kill." Vito interrupts his reverie. Yuuki, Angelo and Silas have finished killing off the lower-ranking Tomaso members and are now closing in on Tomaso Secondo, who gives every appearance of being about to shit his pants. _As well he should_ , Daemon thinks with a grim smile.

The Mist, the Lightning and the Cloud walk down the hill to join the Rain, the Storm and the Sun. Tomaso Secondo lets out a shriek of terror as the six Guardians encircle him with vicious smiles on their handsome faces. "N-no! Please! I'll give you anything!"

"You and your _famiglia_ are long past the point of negotiation, Signore." Yuuki speaks with chilling finality. "We hereby sentence you to death by our boss's Flames of Wrath."

"No! NO! Have mercy! I'm begging you!"

The Sky appears, walking towards his Guardians with catlike grace. "Good work, boys. I'll deal the final blow now. You're more than welcome to watch."

They chuckle and dutifully stand back. Ricardo's Flames surround Tomaso Secondo, creeping closer and closer to the terrified man's face until-

Centuries later, that fateful night is still spoken of with dread and horror.

X

From a nearby house that has been left unharmed, Giotto watches the chaos through bloodshot eyes. Sepira, Primo of the Giglio Nero, stands beside him.

"Is this all right with you, _tesoro_?" she asks softly, her expression unreadable. "This is not the Vongola you sought to create."

Tomaso Secondo's corpse falls to the ground, his limbs reduced to charred stumps and his fine, fair hair all but gone. Ricardo's Guardians laugh raucously and give each other high-fives. Giotto flinches and tears his gaze from the gruesome sight. "No," he says miserably. "No, of course not."

Sepira hugs him and lets him cry all over her pristine white cloak. "What do you intend to do? It is you whom I gave the original Vongola rings to. You have every right to take your _famiglia_ back from him, if you so wish."

Giotto pulls back slowly and looks up, his fierce amber eyes staring into her warm blue ones. "Good idea, but I have something else in mind."

Sepira's gaze is unwavering. "What is it, _tesoro_?"

He kisses her cheek and whispers into her ear: "I will be reborn when the time is right, as one of my own descendants. I swear on my life that someday, the Vongola will once again become what we once were. And the Mist…" he gazes at Daemon, lost in thought. "The Mist will definitely return to the Sky that is right for him. It's just a matter of time."

Sepira's lips curve in a smile far too knowing to be entirely human. "As you wish, so shall it be."

Giotto nods, and turns back to face the gory battlefield. Ricardo's Guardians have begun kicking Tomaso Secondo's corpse around, but this time, Giotto doesn't cry or flinch or look away. His countenance is proud, steady and strong.

"Write it on fate's wheel, Pira. Let's make sure the whole world knows."

X

Flushed with victory, Ricardo and his Guardians return to Vongola headquarters once they tire of playing corpse-football. Ricardo is clearly is a good mood and spares Daemon his usual nightly beatings. However, Daemon knows that tomorrow, the mistreatment will resume like clockwork. Truth be told, he secretly welcomes these beatings. His body is a sacrificial lamb, subjected to the most horrific violence for the future of his people. He will do anything to make, and keep, the Vongola strong. In the privacy of his bedchamber, he takes out a pocket watch engraved with the likenesses of the first generation and Elena. After staring at it silently and brooding for a while, he puts it away and goes to bed, exhausted by the night's activities. He doesn't have any dreams.

Little does he know that fate's wheel is already turning.

 **Author's Note: The title is taken from an album by The Prodigy.**


End file.
